You Don't Have to Answer
by AleisterCrowleySnow
Summary: SnowBaz fic. What if it hadn't taken Agatha and Baz so long to break up? Would things have moved faster with Simon and Baz? Baz is so frustrated knowing he can never have Simon. But when Simon comes in upset (and, more importantly, single), can Baz help himself?


**Baz**

It was getting harder and harder to live with my secret.

It wasn't that I wanted to tell Simon that I was in love with him. As far as I was concerned, it was just as well that Simon would never find out. But it isn't easy being in love with your enemy (or your foil, at least).

Sometimes, when I was leaning against his headboard attempting to study for Politics or some other class, and Snow would walk out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his head, or even just be doing homework on his bed, I couldn't help but watch and ponder. What would happen if I shoved my books aside, pushed Snow up against the wall, and started kissing him? There was a small part of me that thought Snow would whisper _finally_ and kiss me back, mirroring my own lust.

There were so many things wrong with that, though. Snow was straight, and wrapped around Wellbelove's finger—oh yeah, and he hated me. It was an obsessive hatred, one that drove him to follow me and keep track of everything I did, but hatred all the same.

If I watched Snow for too long, surely he would notice, and then I would have to talk to him and pretend to hate him, and honestly, it was exhausting. So I would sigh and go back to my schoolwork. It was the same every night. Always wondering, knowing the entire time that it would never go anywhere.

That's probably why I was hesitating outside of the dorm room, at the top of Mummers house. Simon would be in there, probably eating a box of sweets that the Wellbelove's sent him back with. He'd stayed with them the past six Christmas holidays, and most likely did the same this year. I made a point of not talking to him before the break. What would I have said?

I sighed and pushed the door open, dragging his suitcase behind him into the room. But it was empty.

I had never had the room to myself before. Simon always came back before me. I suppose it was nice, though, so I set to unpacking, positive that Snow would be back to torture me (more than he knew) before the sun set that evening.

 **Simon**

"You kids ready to head back to school?" Dr. Wellbelove asked, leaning on the doorframe of Agatha's bedroom. Agatha was on her bed reading one of her Muggle romance books, and I was on the floor, leaning against her bed, trying to tie my shoelaces using magic. **Stitch me up** was a simple spell, but, of course, it had never worked for me.

Agatha had tried to get me to sit on the bed with her when we first came in, but I refused, even when she batted her eyelashes at me. "I don't want to take advantage of your parents' trust," I insisted. Agatha pursed her lips and muttered "Fine," before pulling her book out. That was nearly an hour ago, and we hadn't spoken since. Something about Agatha flirting has always made me uncomfortable. We'd been dating for two years, but we had only kissed once, and it was after I had nearly been killed by Baz's chimera. It was awkward, and something I hadn't once thought about repeating.

When I heard the doctor's voice, I shoved my wand into the front pocket of my hoodie and got to my feet. "Of course," I said, politely. I preferred to beat Baz back to school and have some time to myself, but it was past dinnertime now, and there would be no chance of that now. I wouldn't say that to the Wellbelove's, though. It was nice enough of them to have me for the holidays every year.

It was dark on the campus when we finally pulled up at Watford. We thanked Agatha's mum and got our suitcases out of the trunk, and set out on the snowy path to the dorms.

"Here's me," I said when they reached Mummer's house, finally breaking the silence. Even though I knew Baz was upstairs, probably already getting ahead in his coursework, flaunting some fancy new clothes from his parents, I was anxious to get to my room.

I made eye contact with Agatha. She looked like an angel, as usual, with fluffy white earmuffs over her ears. She put a white-gloved hand on my shoulder.

"Is everything okay, Simon?"

I looked at the door to Mummers and then back to her again. "Sure. It's just, Baz is up there, and—"

"Oh, _Baz_ ," Agatha murmured. I couldn't tell if she rolled her eyes or not. "Forget it, Simon."

I hesitated before nodding. "Of course, Ag. See you tomorrow for breakfast?"

She hesitated, so I planted a quick kiss on her cheek before turning towards the door. I could already see myself taking a hot shower and settling into bed when Agatha said my name. This time, it was worried, almost urgent. I turned back to her, hoping that my face didn't betray my confusion. "Yes?"

"You kissed my cheek," she said plainly, but her brows were subtly furrowed in concern.

"Yes, I did," I said, trying to maintain eye contact, but I ended up looking at the ground, embarrassed. Agatha dipped into the snow with the tip of her boot.

"Look at me."

I raised his eyes to meet hers and felt my face growing warm. "You're my girlfriend," I said, suddenly defensive.

"One usually kisses his girlfriend on the lips," Agatha told me, as if it were new information.

"I…"

But I had nothing to say in response.

"And girls usually _like_ that, you know, Simon," she continued. She looked a little frustrated now, her arms crossed at her chest. "They like being kissed, and they _don't_ like hearing you complain about your roommate all. The. Time."

I grew even more defensive about that. "It's not like I've ever really been _wrong_ about Baz, you know, and—"

Agatha _definitely_ rolled her eyes this time. "Baz this, Baz that, Baz Baz Baz!" she said, her voice growing louder. She looked around and sighed, and her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "What about _me_?"

This was not what I was expecting. "What _about_ you?" I asked uncertainly.

That was obviously the wrong thing to say. Agatha looked as if she were about to explode. But she closed her eyes and sighed one more time.

"Kiss me, Simon," she said, her voice low.

"Wh... What?"

She took a step closer to me. "Our relationship needs to change, Simon. I'm giving you the opportunity to change it right now. If you don't take it…" she trailed off, and I knew that she was serious.

I leaned in to her, enough that I could feel her breath on my lips. _This is it_.

I didn't know why I was hesitating. Didn't I want to kiss her? She's my _girlfriend_. We were _supposed_ to be together.

I looked down at her lips again. I was _going_ to kiss her, damn it. It was just silly to hesitate. I closed my eyes and braced myself…

And Agatha said, "Just stop."

She sounded disappointed, but unsurprised. "I've given this a fair bit of thought," she told me. _When_ , I wondered, biting my lip. I looked down again, but looked up at her after a moment. This was no time to avoid her eyes.

"I don't think you want me at all," she said softly.

"That's not true," I said automatically.

Agatha tilted her head and stared at me. Her eyes were so clear. "Do you love me, Simon?"

"Of course I—"

" _Simon_ ," she said seriously.

I looked to the White Chapel in the center of the Watford campus, _really_ thinking about it for the first time. I was so used to Agatha, comfortable with her, enjoyed spending time with her, and all our little inside jokes… but for the first time, I could see things clearly. Sometimes it would take us a moment to laugh at each another's jokes, and I wouldn't notice when he went days without seeing her, and she rolled her eyes a _lot_.

I bit his lip and looked back to her. "Agatha," I whispered.

"That's what I thought," she said. Her voice was matter-of-fact, like Penny's when she answered a question in class.

"I'm so—"

"Don't," Agatha said, taking a step back and grabbing her suitcase again. "It's fine. I've known for a while."

"I'm still sorry," I said softly.

She shrugged, but I could tell she was at least a little upset. She wouldn't be hurrying away if she weren't. "There's other fish in the sea, and all that," she said, clutching her suitcase tightly.

She looked so upset that I might have hugged her under different circumstances.

"Don't… don't talk to me for a little while, okay, Simon?" she said softly.

I nodded, biting my lip again. "I never meant to hurt you," I blurted, out of necessity.

"I know, Simon," Agatha whispered.

I watched pensively as she made her way back to the Cloisters. I tried to feel sad, but only felt guilty that I could not.

It was only when Agatha was inside, and I was alone outside, that I finally opened the door to Mummers.

 **Baz**

I spent a few hours studying Magical History and Magi-Normal Relations, but after dinner (both in the dining hall, and in the catacombs) the room was still empty, and I began suspecting that Simon wouldn't be back that night at all. He was usually back days before term resumed—what was different about this year?

 _Probably he just wants a few extra days with Wellbelove_ , I thought, making a face. An image pushed its way into my head—Simon and Agatha curled up in front of a fireplace, snogging. Agatha running her fingers on Simon's arms the way I dreamed about doing someday.

"That's it," I said to no one in particular, shoving my history textbook to the floor. _How could Snow drive me so mad when he isn't even here?_

I crouched at the side of my bed and brought out a flask I had nicked from Father's study. And that's how I came to be swigging liquor on the floor when Snow burst in the room.

For a moment we just stared at one another. I was unable even to sneer; I was too taken aback at his sudden presence.

Snow was clutching his suitcase, which was rolling behind him, and staring with wide eyes and tilted head. Snowflakes had collected on his light hair, and I wondered how long he'd been outside. The way he was staring (perhaps in combination with the alcohol) made my stomach turn. It felt both heavier and lighter all at once. "Snow," I whispered before I could help myself. Then I mentally kicked myself.

After another moment of staring, Snow acted like he hadn't noticed anything, wheeling his suitcase into the room and plopping himself down on the bed.

I couldn't make myself move. I sighed and leaned forward, resting my head on the side of the bed. Snow's eyes were stuck in my own, drilled into my head. How could I take another three semesters of this? I felt as if I couldn't take another moment, let alone a year and a half.

I turned and looked at Snow. He was sitting up in bed, resting against the headboard with his legs bent up in front of him. Even though it was the weekend, and holiday, he had his uniform on. He usually did, and I couldn't complain. It fit him nicely.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, and I narrowed my eyes at him. I hadn't even noticed him turning to look at me. Now he stood up and stared down at me, trying to glare, but failing to be imposing in any way.

I smirked and stood up, closing the flask as I did so. The beds had to be so close together that he was only about a foot and a half away from me. "You just look more pitiful than usual, Snow."

He sighed and sat down on his bed again. "Agatha and I broke up," he said.

His words went in a loop through my mind. _Agatha and I broke up Agatha and I broke up Agatha and I broke up_.

 _Crowley, Baz, calm down_ , I thought to myself, frustrated with my sudden rise of emotion. _It's not as if he's on your bed waiting for you. Nothing's changed_.

"I'm not your therapist, Snow," I said, unscrewing the flask. It seemed already that this would be a long night, so I took another swig of the burning liquid. His eyes followed the flask.

"Count yourself lucky to be rid of her," I said with a grin. I told myself I wasn't trying to provoke him—but I was lying to myself.

He didn't rise to it, though. "I know," he said with a shrug, to my utter astonishment. He looked a little sad, but generally unaffected.

"You—you know?" I asked. I knew I shouldn't get involved with this, but _Crowley_ , did I want to see where it led. And by this point, I didn't think I could stop myself.

"I didn't love her," he admitted.

We were both silent for a moment, and then he looked up at me with a sad little smile. I found myself reaching forward, almost against my will, before snapping back into reality.

"Take," I said, forcing the flask into myself.

"What is it?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's booze, Snow. Crowley."

He shrugged and tipped it into his mouth, drinking way too much at once. He nearly choked but managed to swallow.

I ripped the flask out of his hands and he coughed the liquor down. "Crowley, Snow! Have you never had a drink before?"

He shook his head vigorously. I was starting to think that it had been a bad idea, but I was too curious to stop now. "How do you feel now?" I asked, sitting back down on my bed. I closed the flask and set it beside me on the bed.

"Warm," he announced, his voice a bit too loud.

I couldn't help but grin. "What else, Snow?"

He seemed to be done answering questions, though. "I only kissed her once, you know."

My heart stopped for a minute. I didn't want to hear about this. "Still not your bloody therapist," I growled.

He didn't seem to hear me. He leaned against his bedpost and started out the window on the other side of the room. "Technically, I mean, she only kissed _me_ once. I never kissed her at all. I didn't even realize until tonight that I—I never wanted to kiss her at all. Agatha's perfect, isn't she?" he rambled, and I rolled my eyes. _Not exactly my definition_. "She said she knew I didn't want to kiss her. She said I…" he turned back towards me now, and we made eye contact, sending chills through my spine. "She said I talked about you too much."

I had to break the eye contact. I hoped that he wouldn't notice my face growing red—it was starting to feel so warm, I couldn't imagine I wasn't red as a tomato.

"Everybody knows you're obsessed with me," I muttered. I grabbed the flask and flopped down on my bed, staring up at the canopy of my bed.

"Everybody knows _you're_ a vampire," Snow countered, and I sighed. It would always come down to this. For a moment, I had accidentally thought that things could change between us. It could never happen, though.

"Think whatever you like, Snow," I growled, closing my eyes. I heard movement on his bed. I cracked one eye, and saw him standing, holding on to my bedpost.

"I don't _care_ , Baz," he said. This was something new. I opened my eyes and started unscrewing the flask again, still lying down. "Stop," he said impatiently, pulling the flask out of my hand. His fingers brushed mine briefly—his skin was so cold, I wanted to take them and warm them up in mine. _Cut it OUT, Baz!_ I thought, hating myself.

He sat down next to me. I closed my eyes and tilted my head away from him. He could never know how much my heart sped up when he was near. How warm my face felt, even when I wasn't tipsy.

Simon Snow would never know how I felt about him.

Once again, I told myself I was fine with that.

 **Simon**

Never in my wildest dreams did I picture the night before the term could begin like this—Agatha dumping me, me not really caring, and me drinking with Baz.

Baz.

I rested against his bedpost and looked over at him. I wasn't sure why I was sitting on his bed, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and I couldn't very well get up now.

My roommate was lying down, sideways on the bed with his feet on the floor. One hand was underneath his head, one resting on his stomach. I watched his long fingers slowly drum his stomach before becoming motionless. His stomach rose and fell very subtly with his breathing. Was he sleeping?

I had seen kids sneak alcohol into the homes I lived in during my summers, but had never had any myself. It was always the same thing with them—they chugged quite a bit of it, got loud and excited for a little while, and then passed out. Was that going to happen to me, soon?

Without really thinking about it—that seemed to be part of the alcohol, I kept doing things before agreeing to do them—I laid myself next to Baz, propping myself up on my elbow. As he was tilted away from me, I could see his exposed neck. If he were in my position right now, would he be thinking about biting me? There was no evidence to suggest he had ever bitten human before (Magician or otherwise)—but still. Was I just an eventual meal for him? The thought made me a little sad.

Why did that upset me? I had _always_ known that Baz and I would eventually face one another. One of us would end the other. It only made sense—he was evil, and I was good.

Then I thought of the other thing I had realized I was taking for granted tonight—Agatha and I. What if everything wasn't as black and white if I'd thought?

 **Baz**

" _Baz_."

The whisper jerked me awake. I whipped my head around to see Snow, only inches from my face, his arm supporting his head. He looked misty-eyed and curious.

"Aleister Crowley," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes with my hand. "What do you want? When did you get this… _close_ to me?" I made no effort to move away, though. I was tired and, frankly, enjoyed having him so near.

"You fell asleep," he whispered.

"Let's pretend that gives you permission to lie in my bed," I mumbled, but I'm sure even Snow could tell that it was half-hearted. _Stay stay stay_.

"I really don't care that you're a vampire, you know," he continued, still in a whisper.

"I'm just as human as you are, Snow." For all I knew, that was true.

"Fine, then," he rolled his eyes.

There was silence. He closed his eyes for a moment. I stared at him, unconcerned with him opening his eyes and catching me. The movement of his chest while he was breathing—it was just as intoxicating as the bloody alcohol. "Can I ask you a question?"

I didn't say anything.

"You don't have to answer."

He opened his eyes and caught me staring at him. He smiled just the tiniest bit—heart-stopping. I loved and hated him at that moment.

"Do you think we'll have to try and kill one another someday?" he asked quickly, like he was running out of breath. "You don't… You don't have to answer."

For a little while, I was sure he wasn't going to answer. Then I sighed and said, just as quietly as Snow was speaking, "It does seem to be heading that way."

He nodded, his eyes going unfocused for a moment.

"Only… what if…" he trailed off. His voice was little more than breathing now. "I don't want to kill you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch."

I had always been sure that one day I would die by his hand. It was my duty to my family, was it not? And Simon's duty to the Mage. There was no possible universe where both Snow and I could both go on existing. Every day, that day got closer. It was an unavoidable fact.

"Deal with it," I told him, my voice sounding far away.

"Baz," he whispered, leaning even closer. I don't think he realized how… _intense_ he looked. Snow was the least self-aware person I'd ever met. "Do you want to kill me?"

He was staring at me again. I hated it when he did that. It made it harder to forget that I was in love with him. I could only make it another day by forgetting.

 **Simon**

I had never seen Baz's eyes so wide. In that moment, I realized why grey eyes were my favorite.

"Yes," he said, easily, off-handedly. But he wouldn't look at me.

"The truth," I demanded. "For _once_ , the truth."

"Maybe I lie for a reason," he said, as if that was supposed to mean something to me. He shut his eyes again, as if he couldn't bear to look at me.

And, just like with Agatha earlier that night, I was seeing things clearly.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you want to kill me."

I don't know what I was hoping for.

His eyes remained shut. "Get off my bed, Snow."

I leaned forward until there were only a few inches between us. "No. Tell me."

He was silent for a while. I thought, perhaps, he was falling asleep. After a few minutes, I sighed and sat up. I was about to get up, take a shower, and forget about this whole thing, when he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't go," he whispered I turned around in disbelief, mostly expecting him to be laughing at me for falling it. But his eyes were still shut. He was half asleep.

"Baz?" I said uncertainly.

"Of course I don't want to kill you, you twat," he murmured, taking his hand back.

I hesitated, and then lay down next to him again, my hand resting on the bed between us. Before I knew what was happening, before I could stop it—even before I realized I didn't want it too—he reached out and put his hand on mine.

"Then we're agreed," I breathed. "No trying to kill one another. Truce?"

"Truce."

He laced his fingers through mine. I stared at our intertwined fingers. It was something I had never imagined, but not in a bad way.

I looked at Baz's face. His eyes were open now—he was staring down at our fingers and biting his lip. Was this something he had imagined? It certainly seemed that way.

"Baz."

He finally looked at me, no hint of hesitation in his eyes. And I couldn't resist anymore.

I kissed him.

 **Baz**

 _Simon_.

 _Snow_.

 _Is_.

 _Kissing_.

 _Me_.

 **Simon**

I was kissing Baz. _Baz_.

I'd spent a lot of time imagining how I would die.

I never imagined that _this_ was one of the options.

 **Baz**

I'd spent a lot of time imagining kissing Simon Snow.

The real thing was even better.

And lasted even longer.

And then I was looking down at _Simon Snow_ , who'd just _kissed me_.

 **Simon**

Before I knew it, Baz was on top of me. And this was more enjoyable than I could've imagined, if I'd ever thought about doing this, which I most assuredly _hadn't_.

We stared at one another, both equally shocked. I was the first to break eye contact… I was grinning, and I had to close my eyes. Was this a dream?

I felt kisses on my neck and I opened my eyes again. It wasn't a dream. It was reality, and it was wonderful.

Baz stopped kissing my neck and grinned at me. "It's about _time_ , Snow."

And he kissed me again.


End file.
